Night Terrors
by SomethingIDontKnow
Summary: On the run, there's no time to unwind. But they have a night now, and Scott's got a bad idea Logan's gonna love. Warnings for provoking hate crimes and plot relevant slash.


Title: Night Terrors

Chapter: Oneshot

Author: SomethingIDontKnow

Rating: M

Warnings: Slash, intentional violence, mentions of previous sex, and hateful slurs

Disclaimer: I do not own these poor people or their universe, I'm just here to play with both.

Author's Note: Another Fandom first, I'm on a roll. Please know that these characters will seem very... out of character. It's all part of my plan, so please give it a chance. That said, I've never done this (The characters, the fandom, the 'verse) before and I'd really appreciate hearing what you all think. Many thanks.

They've been on the run for weeks now. They've left something terrible behind them. Logan can't recall just what, but he remembers blood, wet and fresh, and the smell of fear. It's something big and dark that they barely escaped, likely only for a short while.

He pushes it away, gazing up at the water stained ceiling of their motel room. It's a pathetic little place, but at least it doesn't reek of cheap sex and bad luck. They're warm, which is nice, even if the blankets are scratchy and the pillows lumpy.

Scott's been sleeping for an hour or so, worn out by their escape and their first, though not likely last, round of the night. He's naked, but for his goggles, and pressed to Logan's side, his legs tangled in the sheets. His bare skin is just slightly tacky with sweat and while motel rooms that smell like sex are not Logan's favorite, a sleeping Scott Summers smelling of musky sex and fresh arousal is the _best_.

The new arousal becomes stronger as Scott comes awake, stretching a little with a quiet groan, pushing his head back against Logan's arm. His damp hair is ruffled and sticking in clumps. "How long was I out?" He asks softly. The hand he'd left on Logan's chest stirs and he begins skating fingertips across his skin.

Logan grins. "About three days, we're in Seattle now."

"Ass." Scott slaps him playfully on the chest.

"Look who's talking." Logan gives his lover's bottom a pinch.

Scott only smiles smugly. "Don't you know it." He snuggles into Logan's side with a sigh. He smells aroused, eager, but it's not... Not quite right. It's not musky with seduction and the promise of more sex. There's aggression in it, some thinly veiled and trembling rage inside him.

Logan tugs him a little closer, wanting more of that smell. "What's on your mind, Slim?" He asks against his hair.

"I want-" Scott pauses, biting his lip, "Let's kill tonight." He says in a huff, "I want to go out, spill some blood. I want to make chaos, wreak some havoc."

Logan shivers, and it's pure pleasure. Scott's fingers dig into his shoulder and he's got this half pout that Logan's always been hard pressed to resist. "I thought you hated starting fights." Logan's only teasing, Scott's excitement is infectious and now that he's thinking about it, he does miss fighting. On the run for so long, they haven't had time to relax. It's probably a bad idea. Logan loves Scott's bad ideas.

"I never said we were going to start any fights." Scott's pout only gets worse, but there's a quirk of a vicious grin. "Just finish some."

They take a few minutes to get out of bed, slowed by their already growing excitement. There's a quick shower, all tease and scorching kisses. It's just a build, slow and steady, to the main event. Scott is plastered to Logan's back the whole ride to the bar. He's dressed in fitted jeans and a long tee that clings to the lines of his shoulders under his leather jacket. Logan's dressed much the same, a little more loosely.

It's all familiar, a _modus operandi_, and it feels like they've done it a thousand times before.

The bar is small and run down but it's Saturday night and pretty full, the parking lot packed with late model trucks and clusters of bikes.

Logan strides in like he owns the place, Scott following demurely behind, close enough to touch. Sometimes Scott likes to let it play out, start out slow and ambiguous and build until they've got a mob in a rage. Much easier out here in the sticks. It appears he's out for a quick one tonight. They barely reach the bar before half the place is watching them. Logan orders two beers and the barkeep scurries off, apparently sensing the tension. Logan hops onto a seat, dragging the one to his left closer. Scott cuddles up, his usually tightly controlled expression open and easy, not the least bit subtle as their drinks arrive.

A nearby man in an open button up, cheap cologne coming off him thickly, starts it seconds later. "Why don't you fags get out of here." He sneers, "Before someone puts your worthless asses to good use." Scott shivers, turns his face against Logan's shoulder and makes a pathetic little whimper. He's a slut for talk like that. A few people laugh at the display, ugly laughter that has Logan stifling a growl. It's all part of the game, he reminds himself, all worth it in the end. Rage slowly kindles out of arousal. It's heavier, moving in a steady flood as opposed to curling smoke. Logan takes a drink from his beer, feeling the anticipation build.

"And this queer," another man steps up, stinking of leather, sweat and stale beer, crowding the pair, "You think sunglasses gonna protect you from something out here? It's the middle of the night, pretty boy, and we wanna see your pretty eyes."

Scott clamps a hand around his goggles, turning into Logan even further. He groans, low and hungry, his open mouth pouring hot breath against Logan's collar. The men laugh in their nasty way. Logan finishes his beer, slamming down the bottle with enough force to give the laughing men pause. Scott's whine is outright erotic. "Let's do it." He pleads softly, "Soon. Now."

"You better get your slut boy home." It's a new voice, directly behind them. Warm cotton and old tobacco. It's rough and Logan can smell the lust in it. "Before someone takes him up on his offer."

Logan looks down at Scott, takes his flushed cheeks and the start of a manic grin on his lips. He leans down and kisses that grin, taking Scott's pliant mouth for a few burning seconds before a heavy hand settles on his shoulder. It's the idiot behind him, the man chewing dip. Logan feels the bones in his hands shifting, grating. Scott laughs when Logan pulls away. It's crazed and Logan loves the sound. He feels his own skin tearing, slicing open as his claws extend and he whirls to face the stranger as Scott kicks out at their neighbor. There's a rush through his body, hotter and more controlled than orgasm. He feels wet splatter across his face and grins with all his teeth. It's gonna be a bloodbath, he thinks and moves into the start of their massacre.

Logan jerks awake, exposed claws shredding through the sheets as he fights back. Against the phantom strangers or himself, he refuses to consider. He sits up, clenching and unclenching his fists as he takes stock of his room. It's plain, just another school bedroom, and blessedly empty. He's alone in his bed, still panting. It's three eighteen in the morning, according to the bedside clock. He fists both hands in his hair and draws up his knees. He tries to slow his breathing, focuses on calming his aching arousal, now warring with fresh battle high.

These dreams have been happening on and off for weeks now. Not just dreams about Scott, numerous (and maybe enjoyable, he could admit that) as those were. For weeks now he has been dreaming of bloodlust. He has suffered vivid dreams of slaughtering without thought or cause or provocation. The ghost of that stench, fresh blood and base human terror, is still in his nose and on his tongue, bitter and sour all at once. He isn't a good guy, for all he's done and tried to do, there's some things that can't be forgiven and he is well aware of that. But this... This is unprecedented. For everything he's done, he's never- never _wanted _like that- and never innocent people-

There's too much adrenaline in him to go back to sleep. To much energy left in his limbs. Logan sighs and turns his head just enough to peer at the clock again. Three twenty AM. Perfect time to start the day.


End file.
